The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 135: Ashes in the Vein

Chapter 135: Ashes in the Vein

Sterling’s body lay half-curled at the circle’s broken edge, "You did it," Beckett murmured, voice raw from the snarl he’d forced down his throat. "You did what Rhett never could."

Magnolia’s mouth twitched. It might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded like a bone cracking. "Did I?"

Beckett’s fingers brushed Sterling’s collar, pushing the torn fabric aside. Beneath the shredded cloth, Sterling’s skin was slick with old blood, but a shape glowed faintly where his sternum should have been , a lattice of thin, black lines pulsing like veins carved from soot.

Beckett hissed. "Gods."

Magnolia knelt, boots scraping against the cold floor. She pressed her fingertips to the edge of the mark , a brand that hadn’t burned out with Sterling’s final breath. It felt cold. Dead. Yet under her skin, her wolf shivered, ears flat, hackles bristling.

"He carried it all this time," Beckett said, voice low. "The Ash Child. Gabriel’s rot. It’s in him still."

Magnolia pulled her hand back. Her palm burned where the brand’s edges had kissed her skin. "It’s not in him anymore."

Beckett’s eyes snapped to hers. The bond between them pulsed , not the calm, steady hum it had been, but a twitchy, flickering heartbeat like a rabbit cornered by a hound.

"It’s in you," he said.

She almost laughed again. Her throat worked around it. "No. Not me."

Beckett’s brow furrowed. "Then, "

"It’s still in her." Magnolia’s breath came in shallow bursts. Her eyes darted to the far wall, where the shadows thickened like a bruise under the old shelving. "Camille. It was never just Sterling’s to carry."

Beckett rocked back on his heels. The candlelight flickered across his face, throwing the sharp planes of his jaw into stark relief. "We break our backs killing him, and we’re still in the same pit."

Magnolia’s hands trembled in her lap. "Not the same. One less mouth for the Ash Child to speak through."

"Or one step closer to hers."

They fell silent, the hush swelling between them until the drip of melting snow at the broken window felt like a drumbeat.

Beckett stood. He wiped his blade on Sterling’s coat , a useless ritual, since no steel could scrape the ghost from iron. He flicked the blood aside, the droplets pattering onto the cold stone.

"We burn him," he said.

Magnolia’s stomach lurched. "We bury him."

Beckett’s snarl came low. "We burn him, Mags. You know what’ll crawl back up if we don’t."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to cling to the memory of Sterling’s laugh before the pit, before Gabriel, before the Ash Child wrapped its fingers around his throat and squeezed until the wolf she trusted was nothing more than teeth and hunger.

But she couldn’t.

"Fine," she whispered. "Outside. Not here."

Beckett nodded once. He bent, hooking his hands under Sterling’s shoulders. The corpse slumped like wet rope, his head lolling sideways, lips parted around words that would never stain the air again.

Magnolia pushed to her feet, wiping her palms on her cloak’s hem. The smear of blood at her wrist throbbed , the bond she’d cut with Beckett humming faintly, alive but frayed at the edges.

"Wait."

Beckett paused, Sterling’s limp weight dragging at his grip. "What?"

Magnolia knelt again. She slipped her fingers into Sterling’s coat pocket, brushing aside old cinders and a scrap of cloth that smelled faintly of pine , Beckett’s scent, she realized with a jolt, though the memory that bound it to Sterling had long since rotted. Beneath the cloth, her fingers found paper , thin, soft, marked with a smear of dried blood.

She unfolded it. One line. Five words scrawled in a hand that was not Sterling’s.

Run while you still can.

Her breath caught. Beckett leaned over her shoulder, the heat of him pressing against her back.

"What is that?"

Magnolia’s lips twisted. "A joke. Or a warning."

She shoved the paper into her cloak. She’d let the flames take it when Sterling burned. If she kept it, the ghosts would cling to it , another scrap of ash to line her ribs.

They dragged Sterling’s corpse through the servant tunnels, the old walls pressing close, stale air tasting of mold and secrets that should have been buried centuries ago. Magnolia stayed ahead, shoulders squared, the hush of Beckett’s boots behind her a weight that kept her spine from folding under the truth rattling through her chest.

They laid him on a pyre in the courtyard, stones piled high to keep the wind from scattering his ashes before the flames finished their work. Beckett doused the wood with oil, the scent sharp and bitter, making Magnolia’s eyes sting more than the cold.

Snow drifted through the gap in the courtyard wall, the breach Sterling’s traitorous wolves had carved with explosives when the Elder first struck. It never healed right , a wound in the estate’s side, a reminder that even stone could bleed.

Beckett held the torch out to her. She didn’t take it.

"Do it," she said.

He didn’t argue. He pressed the flame to the oil-soaked wood, the hiss and crackle catching fast. The fire leapt up Sterling’s legs, curling around his boots, climbing his chest like hungry fingers searching for a throat.

Magnolia stood there, cloak wrapped tight, her wolf restless under her ribs. She could feel the heat lick at her cheeks, melting the snow in a wide circle that would never stay pure for long.

Beckett watched her from the corner of his eye, jaw tight, eyes silver-bright in the reflection of the flames.

"You regret it," he said.

She flinched. "I regret everything."

The corpse twitched as the fire found the brand carved over Sterling’s sternum. For a heartbeat, the lattice glowed , brighter than any ember , then split with a hiss that sounded too much like a whisper.

Camille’s voice flickered through her mind. Not words this time , just the echo of laughter that shouldn’t be hers anymore.

Magnolia pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the bond thrum under her skin.

Beckett’s eyes flicked to her. "What?"

"She’s closer now." Her voice trembled. "He was the chain. Killing him didn’t break it. It fed it."

Beckett spat into the snow. "Then we hunt her down."

Magnolia’s mouth twisted. "We save her."

His laugh was sharp. "Same thing."

They stood together until the pyre collapsed inward, the final hiss of the lattice brand snapping as flames devoured the last of Sterling Hale. The snow melted to mud around the stones, blackened with old secrets that wouldn’t stay buried.

Magnolia turned to Beckett, her eyes wet, the hush of the courtyard wrapping around her shoulders like a shroud.

"It’s not over."

Beckett reached out, brushing a smear of soot from her cheek. His thumb lingered at her jaw, the bond flickering warm under his touch.

"Nothing ever is."

Inside, the pack felt it , the shift in the hush, the crackle under the skin. Wolves muttered at the edges of the hearths, mothers pulled cubs closer, old men spat into the rushes and whispered that the ghosts were stirring again.

Magnolia slipped back into the corridor. Beckett followed her without a word. His boots left wet prints that turned the old stone dark as they vanished deeper into the estate’s throat.

In her chamber, she stripped the cloak from her shoulders, hanging it by the cold hearth. Her hands smelled of blood and burnt fur. The taste clung to her tongue no matter how many times she scraped it away with her teeth.

She sat on the edge of her narrow bed, fingers pressed to the hollow at her throat where the pack’s promise should have felt like iron.

The hush pressed close. Camille’s echo rattled in her chest , laughter that didn’t belong to the girl she’d raised from her first steps to the last time she’d kissed her brow and told her they’d always have each other.

Ash in the vein. Poison at the root.

The hunt wasn’t over. It had only just begun.